Alone in the Dark
by I'maWanderer
Summary: Katniss never volunteered for Prim. Peeta's the only Victor, never confessing his love for Katniss. Katniss must come to terms with Prim's death. Will there be a rebellion or will the Districts of Panem always be shadowed by the Capitol? K/G later K/P
1. Chapter 1

**Hola everyone. I'm back. I'm not sure where this will go and it won't be updated as fast as 'Forgiveness is Hard to Come By' but I'm willing to try and make this work. **

**I was going to update this yesterday but it was Canada Day and I didn't have time. Part of the credit for this plot belongs to my friend, it was a hilarious conversation ( She's not a Fanfiction user)**

**Song: Pale ~Within Temptation**

**I've decided it's easier if I put the song beforehand so you can search it (if you want) and read while listening to it instead of finding it at the bottom.**

My fingers stretch out, seeking Prim's warmth and panicking when I come up with nothing. Only empty cold covers. Expecting her to have crawled in with our mother I drowsily open my eyes and look across the room seeking for her small sleeping form.

She's not with my mother either. The need to prove to myself that my nightmare wasn't indeed a reality fills me up whole so nothing else exists other than to reassure myself.

Without hesitating I swing my legs off the bed and pad downstairs with a hunters' tread, heart in my lungs, blocking everything. All I feel is fear. In an effort to calm myself I tell myself she must be in the kitchen, probably preparing the rest of the rabbit I shot yesterday. But once I walk into the kitchen I'm met with only a horrible emptiness. The weight of reality crashes down onto my shoulders like a brick, bringing me to my knees. Making it hard to breathe. With shaking legs I pull myself onto a chair and suck in large mouthfuls of air.

Knowing I won't get an answer I call out her name anyways. "Prim? Prim?" Nothing replies, just the heavy silence within the kitchen. I remind myself that my dream was a reality and that reality is just an awful ongoing nightmare.

I feel my throat close up, cutting off my airways. Still gasping for air I get up and stumble into our closet of a living room and sink onto the lumpy couch. Immediately it seems like my back protests, my tailbone already sore. The exposed springs and stuffing creating a painful shelter.

An oddly muffled, disgruntled hiss sounds from beneath me, a second later after much wriggling a skinny mangy orange streaks jumps off the couch and lands on the floor with an arched back. Buttercup gives an indignant sort of hiss and bats at my exposed toes viciously. Nipping down on the bare flesh.

Before I know what I've done I've slapped Buttercup on the rump. Hard enough to get my message across.

He looks at me in shock, because as much as I hate this cat I've never hit him before. "Sorry. Sorry. Come here." I say in a moment of weakness, trying to win him back. Because if I do then somehow I'm connected Prim, even though she's far, far away in some unreachable realm. Many days I feel like I can only reach her through pain and my nightmares. But maybe this would work just as well. Prim loved Buttercup to no end.

But Buttercup won't stand for this abuse. Shooting me one last dirty look through his squashed eyes he stalks off into the kitchen making sure his tail is poised up so I can get a clear view of his rear end.

I don't even know why Buttercup bothers to stick around. Prim isn't here anymore. He doesn't have any sort of tolerance for my mother or I. It must be the entrails from the kills I get that he sticks around for. It's like not any of us but Prim where actually affectionate toward him. After all I tried to drown him. I didn't need another mouth to feed, and he was infested with fleas and worms.

I sit for an indefinite amount of time. Watch the sun rise though one of our grimy, coal layered windows. A part of my brain keeps trying to remind me there was a reason I woke up so early on a Sunday. But I can't remember, though I know it must be important for me to wake up hours before dawn. I can't find a reason to get up and go through the motions of the day again.

The pain gets like this at times. In the beginning it was nothing short of awful and unbearable. I was like my mother when my dad died. I didn't have to provide for anyone anymore so I sat there, for hours at a time, looking at nothing. People would stop by at first and offer us support in the form of whispered words and food if they could spare it. The baker actually gave us bread. Not because he wanted too surely, but because Peeta asked him too.

I still don't trust my mother for leaving the first time but its better this time around. When I was younger I needed someone to comfort me and no one did. This time I knew what to expect. Well now I don't care, as much I need my mother's support I won't admit it. She's gone and she had been improving too, until the Games that is. Gone for good. I doubt she'll ever come back. And if she does she'll never be the same.

There's a hushed knock on the door but I don't get up. I found a relatively comfortable spot on this couch, no small feat and I don't plan on moving now. I might even be able to fall asleep again.

Another knock. Then another. Honestly I'm not going to get up and open the door so why don't they go away? Can't they see I'm better off being left alone? That I _want_ to be left alone.

I think I hear sigh from the other side of the door. Then muffled and distorted so bad I can't recognize it, comes a deep voice. "Katniss? Katniss? Come on. Open up."

At first I'm fearful, worried about who it could be. I watch the door apprehensively, wishing I had a weapon of some sort. My bow would be my first choice but I'd take a knife at this point. The kitchen…too far.

A face appears in the window and I have to stifle a scream. The window is so grimy all I can make out is a dark shape with vaguely recognizable features.

"Katniss. Open up." The person taps on the window insistently.

For some reason I glance up at it, my hand twitching toward it for a moment before falling uselessly to my side. Why can't people leave me alone when I want to be left alone? I want to be left alone.

"It's Gale. Katniss you know I'll break open the window and crawl through if I have to. And I know you're down there! I can see you!" There's silence for a few seconds as I take in what now is obviously Gale's face perched above me in the window. I wonder how I didn't recognize him before. He's right he will break the window. Let him. It's not like my mother will care. She doesn't care about anything other than herself now and days and even that's fading.

He yanks the window open much to its screaming protests and looks down at me. "Unlock the door will you?" He says. When I refuse to reply he sighs and shuts the window so hard that the glass seems to shiver. The window hasn't been opened in years resulting in the loud creaks.

There's a loud shuffling sound outside, so unlike Gale's usual quiet movements that I'm shocked it could be him. After a few seconds the door swings open and Gale walks in with the spare key in hand.

"You guys moved it on me." He says accusingly.

"It's the same place as it's always been." I tell him my voice sounding like a frogs croak.

"You sure?" He says in a doubtful tone. He tosses me the silver key and I catch it singlehandedly.

We stand there awkwardly for a few moments before Gale sits down on the seat next to me. "So did you forget the fact that we had plans for today?" He asks.

I want to smack myself for being so stupid. "Right." I say sheepishly. "That's what I forgot." I knew it was something important. How could I forget something as important as spending the day with my best friend? It's his only day off from the mines. Only day I get to see him. And I've actually tried on other days, but he's always sleeping if he's not working.

I've become a provider for his family as well. He works so much and gets paid so little that he doesn't get to hunt as often as he used to. I only have to support my mother and myself now and my mother's weight is plummeting by her desire not to eat. I've taken up the task of gathering a little extra for Gale's family. It gives me a purpose.

"You look terrible." He says honestly. "Another nightmare?"

I nod, not wanting to relive it quite yet. I want to prolong that moment when I finally tell him as long as I possibly can.

"What time is it?" I ask wondering how long I've kept him waiting.

"Well seeing as we were planning to meet at three am it's now eight am. It's fine you've only kept me waiting for five hours." He says his voice betraying of what's only a fraction of his frustration at me for keeping him waiting that long, that I can't get over it like he thinks I should.

"Did you wait that entire time?" I ask not feeling the least bit sorry for him.

"No. Are you kidding? I went home at five am. You obviously weren't going to show up." He growls accusingly.

"I wandered downstairs at some time, thinking she was here and then I realized she wasn't." I whisper missing the accusing edge in his voice and completely shifting the subject.

Gale doesn't answer, doesn't say anything consoling like a small part of me wants. He doesn't even pat my knee which is jabbed in his chest due to the small couch. His patience for me to get over Prim wore thin long ago. Now he thinks I should just get over it and he tries to help me by ignoring my passing comments and forcing me to get up when I'd rather sit out the whole day. Sometimes I would get away with it, unfortunately it usually didn't happen.

"Get up. Get ready. We have tons to do today if we want to eat the rest of the week."

I further annoy him when I refuse to move off the couch. I'm quite comfortable and really we have enough food for my mother and I to make it until Wednesday. I can always go hunting after school if I have to. Or better yet not go to school at all. "I think I can get by until Wednesday."

"Yeah well my family can't!" He snaps getting up and pulling me up with him. He looks down at me with his angry gray eyes, commanding me to get up and move around. "If you don't want a share of what we kill that's fine my family could use it. Yesterday I had a mint leaf for breakfast."

I wonder if he's exaggerating. There's a good chance he isn't.

I sigh, feeling small and breakable compared to Gale who's well over six feet. Already being eighteen he works his days in the mines and his already dark hair looks darker with all the accumulated coal dust in it. And while he's thin for his age he's muscular and undeniably strong. I never used to feel so frail before but things have changed. I've never been a very fragile girl until now and it's not that I'm frail but an emotional wreck.

"Is your mother sleeping?" He asks lowering his voice as he considers for the first time that I'm not the only tenant of this house.

I shrug my shoulders uncaringly. "Probably. Not like she does much else."

"Good point." He agrees giving me a light push towards the stairs, telling me to hurry up. That we're wasting a hunting day. I stumble for a few steps and regain my balance.

I take the stairs slowly and venture quietly into the bedroom I share with my mother. She's still asleep of course. Blonde hair plastered to the pillow as she snores gently, her dreams untroubled. How is it that she got off scotch-free from nightmares?

I change as quickly as possible without making any unnecessary noise so I don't wake her up. I like her better asleep. When she is awake, aware and talking she keeps fretting and babying me. Begging me not to go hunting because she can't lose me along with the rest of her family. Some days I think she tells me that just because she doesn't like Gale any more. I gave up trying to tell her that he makes me feel better, that he and woods are my salvation. She doesn't understand, she never does because she never moves on she just holds onto it forever. I try and tell her that if I don't hunt we don't eat. And some days I want to scream at her that I've lost everyone including her, that she's as good as dead to me. But I never do. And half of the time she just sits there and doesn't do anything.

Downstairs Gale is waiting for me, leaning on our rickety kitchen table with an air of impatience. His fingers tap a mindless rhythm. They stop as soon as he notices me.

"Ready?" He asks raising an eyebrow as if I've somehow forgotten something. Which I don't think I do but I check to make sure I have my socks on. I feel a minuscule breath of relief escape when I see my mismatched, holey socks on my feet.

"I'll just do my hair on the way," I sling my father's hunting jacket onto my arm and grab my hunting bag.

"I don't think that'll make you look any better." He tells me truthfully, almost bluntly. "Honestly you look like a downright mess. Do you even sleep at night?"

"No. With the combined nightmares from Prim and my father I'm lucky to get three hours." I remind him with acid creeping into my tone as my own patience wears thin. I shut the door quietly behind me and lock the door and stow the spare key under the eaves.

"Have you looked in a mirror lately?" He asks and I wonder what he's getting at. What could possibly be so bad that Gale would want me to look in a mirror? I try and avoid mirrors at all costs. I always did. More so now than ever before.

"No." I say curtly wanting him to stop. He's not making me feel any better; he's almost making me feel worse as he reminds me how much of a mess I am. I know I'm a mess right now but what does he expect? That I can just pick myself up and continue on? Maybe I did with my dad but that was _only_ because my mother refused to get a job and just sunk further into her depression. I had Prim and myself to look after then. Now there's only me. I can grieve as long as I please and no one can really say different. In the Seam I now seem to be known as the girl that lost both a father in the mines as well as a sister in the Games. Most take pity on the girl who has nothing left but her best friend and her unreachable depressed mother. I don't want the pity. I broke my promise. I said Prim was dead. I never do. Because somehow that makes it final.

As Gale and I walk through the town, now later in the day then we would normally dare to venture out to hunt, because the town has come alive. People are throwing open their shutters to capture the unexpected rays of sunlight.

It makes it infinitely more dangerous for us to sneak out to the woods. While many of the residents of District 12 turn a blind eye to our illegal hunting, there are others we still have to watch for. They'll be the ones who will inform the Capitol, for a reward of course. Then where would Gale and I be? Getting whipped at the best. However it's not the Peacekeepers we need to watch for. They're our best costumers, Cray, the head buys wild turkey, and he loves it. Besides they're paid well enough, they don't need to. It's the Seam people who need the money.

We head off down the main road that leads to the square, but our destination is far from the square. Despite it still being fairly early in the morning, we pass quite a few people on our way to town. Some smile and wave at us, everyone is in a good mood. It's a Sunday. A day of from work for most.

I'm actually starting to feel again. I'm not numb anymore. Maybe it's because my mind is preoccupied with the fact that I'm going hunting with Gale and that only happens on Sundays now that Gale has started in the mines.

A haggard, pale looking man with blonde hair shuffles past us. Shoulders slumped in defeat. He raises his blonde head from the concrete and meets my eyes briefly before the blue eyes flit quickly back to the pavement. It's enough to know who he is. I doubt I could forget him I tried. And I have.

"He looks terrible." I say the broken blue eyes still burned into mine. He does. He looks beyond his years. Not that he looks elderly or particularly weak. He probably still wrestles and lifts weights like before. He looks in his early twenties instead of late teens. But a twenty year old who grew up too fast in all the wrong ways. Like he was beaten down and stepped on every day. His once ashy blonde hair has an almost gray sheen to it, unhealthy and old. Or maybe it's the lighting or the coal dust. But his ancient eyes, beyond his years, spill the whole story onto the concrete. Trying to say sorry.

Nothing like how I remember him when I watched him on the TV while he toured the Districts a few months ago. Or maybe he just had so much make-up caked on it was hard to tell. They always plaster on make-up in the Capitol. And he did look rather different on camera. When he first came back he never left his new house so no one really show what he looked like. Not that I pay any attention to him but that was mandatory viewing. Usually I pay as little attention to him as I can.

"That's how you look," Gale says quietly. "Not like you survived the Games but you lived through it through the eyes of someone else."

I look at him like he's crazy because he's making no sense.

The sight of the should be young boy fills me with a sudden rage. He should look happy and glowing with good health! He's a victor! One of the rich who rose above us all. He won the Games relatively unscathed! He has food! He shouldn't look the way he does, he won didn't he? Twenty three other kids died for a crime they didn't even commit. And what did they do to deserve such a fate? Nothing just being born after the Dark Days was enough to land them in the arena.

_But someone has to go._ I think. And in our case it had to be Prim. Innocent. Just like the other kids. The monstrous boy from 2 appears in my mind and it dawns on me that maybe not all of them were 'innocent.' _It has to happen. Something has to give and it's always the Districts._

Peeta should look happy. He's home and whole with his family who loves him. While I'm stuck with a depressed mother who may as well be dead for all the use she is. She's worse than dead. It's like she's always been dead and now I'm alone. Two of my family members are dead. While he came home alive, rich and well, to his overjoyed family. He tried to get into our funeral and say he was sorry but I shunted him out the door and slammed it in his face. What could his words do? No matter how powerful his words were he couldn't bring her back and never could. Why can't he realize that? He made the mistake.

"Catnip?" Gale says.

"Stop calling me that." I retort with less than my usual amount of vinegar I usually inject when he calls me that. What's the point? It comes out half committed and flat.

"Never." He says mimicking my tone to perfection.

"Well then what? You never call me that unless you want my attention."

"We're here." He says conversationally, changing the subject abruptly.

"Great." It doesn't sound great the way it comes out. I make it sound like I'm walking to the gallows. At least then I could escape and see Prim. There's nothing here to hold me to this Earth. My mother isn't a concern. Gale. Prehaps the only one whom I would miss. Would he mourn me? Would Peeta because he never got to make his amends for killing my sister?

That's why I'll never be able to forgive him. Because he killed her and home was so close she could taste it, feel it. I had begun to hope and he crushed it within seconds.

After throwing a cautious glance around Gale watches as I crawl and wriggle my way under the fence. I whistle to get his attention once on the other side. Seconds later Gale has joined me.

Looking back at the town through the fence it feels miles and miles away. Like it's not there. It feels like I'm not part of that world anymore. Disjointed and unwelcome. That's how it looks to me. Forbidding. Maybe I should never go back. Now I could do it. Before I had Prim, now all I have is Gale. Why didn't I take the offer up when I could've? We could have done it. We would have it. We would be living in the woods right now, free from the Games, death and starvation at every turn. It would take us just minutes to gather our belongings and splitting. We would've taught our families to help. Made a house. I would have saved Prim and therefore save myself.

"Hunt or fish?" Gale says as if from a distance. I snap out of my daydream. It was so real. I could almost smell the wood and the roasting rabbits. Taste it on my tongue. Hear Prim and Posy's laughs filling the woods as we fished. It's like it's all been taken away. Snapped from my grasp forever.

"I don't care. But we have all day."

Gale sighs like I'm being difficult. I'm not. "Fish."

"Great." A nasty edge creeps into my voice as feeling comes back into my body. My hand finds the light switch momentarily, flooding the cave I feel trapped in, with light. It feels like I'm stuck in a cave with no light, and while I know the light switch is there I just can't find the reason to find it. What's the point to finding it? Because I know it'll just burn out again. I'll run out of a reason and feelings and it'll just shatter like the last time. My hand has found the switch and turned it on but how long will it be until it burns out again? A week? A month? A year? Never? Leaving me alone and with the night. So that it can swallow me in its all consuming darkness.

**First Chapter is always the shortest for me. Expect longer ones soon! Once the ball starts rolling it, um, rolls! I promise this will make sense soon.**

**Can anyone guess what or whom the last paragraph is relating too? Virtual cakes for the ones who get it right.**

**I know Katniss could be considered OOC but I was doing a more Mockingjay esque Katniss but it was strange because there is no Mockingjay. In short I was attempting to make her like Katniss was at the end of MJ but MJ never really happened.**

**Thanks for reading, please review.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Insert witty disclaimer here. No seriously I own nothing.**

**Okay I actually have a reason for taking so long to update! No writers block (quite the opposite) I just haven't had internet. But it worked out; I've gotten a head start on chapter three. :D This is the first chance I've had to update.**

I sit squished against Gale's warm body on our rock. My seat on the rock happens to be tilted at a rather odd angle so touching Gale is unavoidable. When we were younger and just starting out as partners he dominated the conversation and ended up claiming his side of the rock that we always met at, as his own.

"So," He says leaning back as far as he comfortably can. "Why didn't you show up this morning?"

The temperature seems to have dropped, my blood freezing to a stop as well. Everything seems to fall silent, waiting for an answer.

The tone in his voice implies that I can't really refuse to give him a reason. It would be easier to say that I slept in and not say that I just didn't have the drive to get up this morning like so many others. But he'll know I'm lying.

I'm not sure how to begin, how to get the words out properly. In just the right way that he might not be angry at me. He's the only person who still cares about me. Only person I still trust. And I always get so caught up with words. They lose their meaning and get twisted around in my mouth so that they come differently than I intend. All I know is that I can't lose him. And if I do I don't know what I'll become.

"I had a nightmare." I say fiddling with my bow resting at my feet. Pretend to look it over and test the string gives a place for my eyes to rest. I can feel his gray eyes boring into the back of my neck. When I speak again I talk to the earth, it doesn't judge me. Just soaks up my words and turns it into something useful. My tears and words help the plants thrive. "I woke up, thinking everything was just some awful part of my nightmare. I thought she was with my mom…" My voice sounds hoarse and brittle. "But she wasn't. I went into the kitchen and realized she wasn't here. And she's not ever coming back."

"And?" He prompts sounding callous.

"I couldn't remember our plans. Never mind the fact I didn't want to get up." I finish my voice forlorn.

"Would've been nice to know you weren't going to show up. I would've slept in." He says in the same tone.

"Why didn't you sleep when you got back home? And I'm _sorry_ I can't give you an exact schedule of how Prim's death is going to affect me day by day." I growl growing annoyed. Does he think I have these nightmares that offset my day _just_ to irritate him? It's not something I can control. "Besides I told you I didn't feel like moving so I wasn't going to walk all the way to your house just to tell you I'm not coming."

"You know as well as I do that once I'm up I can't go back to sleep until later." He says.

"Well, what do you want me to say?" I retort lifting my gaze from the ground to meet his steely eyes.

His eyes are hard and his jaw is set into a hard angle. I can tell he's biting back harsh words. Instead when he answers me his voice is well measured and even though he's struggling to put the words in a way that won't break me. "I want…for…you to have…a life." He says finally sounding as if the words taste like vomit in his mouth. "A life outside of Prim's death and this depression."

Easy for him to say. Always easy to say but harder to get done. Especially if it's not affecting you. I try the same pointless tactic I always do when we have this argument. It's weak from overuse. "Imagine Posy went into the Games. Or Rory, or Vic. And they died. And you had _nothing_ left." It's a useless point of argument. He's immune now, I've argued from this angle too often.

"I would get over it. Sure, it would hurt, but I wouldn't wallow in guilt." Easier said than done, of course. I had said the same thing. It's the same answer I always get. We could recite this argument in our sleep. Requires no thought from either of us anymore.

"Who said this was about guilt?"

"No one."

"This isn't about guilt Gale." I say forcefully, anger bubbling over. Or is it about guilt? Could he be right?

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." I snap growing tired of these pointless conversations. They never reach a conclusion. No one ever wins.

"Almost five months seems a little extreme that's all." Gale says casually, packing everything into his bags. "I just always thought you felt guilty because you didn't volunteer."

"For you maybe. But we're not all machines." I growl, shoving all my food his way, knowing it's a low comment, but not caring. Just two squirrels and some roots we were lucky enough to find under the frozen dirt I don't want any of it. None. Ignore the passing comment about volunteering because I regret it. Why did my lips have to become so glued at the worst moment?

"What are you doing?" He sounds irritated that I'm being so difficult.

"Giving you my share." I say in exasperation. "I don't want it. Take it." It seems unfair to take half of it when we have so little. I can last until Wednesday anyway. And I don't want any of the food because I'm just feeling too angry with him to take anything. Besides mother barely eats anything anymore so we can get by with a little less. But Gale with three younger siblings and a mother to feed needs the game more than I do.

"Why?" He demands.

"Because I don't want it." I say resolutely, swinging my empty bag over my shoulder in one smooth motion. The weight, or lack thereof, feels strange against my back. Being so used to having something heavy rocking against my shoulders.

"Katniss I'm not letting you give this all to me," He argues, sounding disgusted that I would even attempt at giving him all of this. Thinks that it's pity that's driving me to do this. "It took us years to agree on a hunting plan and you're just going to give it all to me?"

"You need it more than I do," I reply in a tone that I hope ends the conversation.

He sighs angrily and slips a squirrel into my bag. He doesn't say thank you. Never does. Don't think he knows how to react to generosity.

I want to protest but I don't. All the fight has drained out of me, leaving me empty. The switch seems to have broken again, darkness takes reign within seconds.

It feels like a short walk back to the fence, maybe because I feel so preoccupied and empty. Our feet making no sound on the crisp, frosty earth. Pausing near the fringe of the trees we scan the area in 12, checking that the coast is clear from watchful eyes.

Gale moves first, and beckons me forward with an impatient wave of his hand. "Hurry." He hisses. "Someone's coming."

I feel disjointed as I make my way, clumsy and disjointed, towards the fence. I peer into the gray world that feels from a different universe. A world where all my troubles catch up with me. The sky matches the frost on the houses exactly. Winter has finally set in. Those few hours of sunlight has been replaced with steel gray clouds.

"What would you do if one of your family members died in the Games?" I ask in a hushed voice as I wriggle after him under the fence.

He stares at me for a moment, judging what my reaction will be. Wondering if I can handle it. I know what the answer will be, but I want to hear it. To confirm that I do know him.

"I would start an uprising and personally murder the Gamemakers." He snarls, clenching his large hands into fists.

I open my mouth, already forming a sentence of agreement when I stop. Would I now? Would I have it in me? Of course I could, but would Prim want me to? That's all that really matters to me now. What she wants.

"And tear the Capitol down brick by brick." I add on, grimly. I would avenge Prim if given the chance. I would kill the Gamemakers that created those precious little games. Whether she would've wanted me to or not. It would be for me now. So I can move on. The boy who killed her is out of the question, he died days later. The only one left would be Peeta but I doubt I could. Something about the pain in his eyes. I make a vow to myself that I _will_ avenge Prim's death in some way or another. Whether it is decades from now or just a few weeks. I will do it.

Something about my voice sends Gale hurrying for another topic. Anything else than this would be good in his eyes. Did I scare him with the conviction, so clear in my voice? That I finally sounded like a person?

"I guess we should stop by the Hob." He says, grabbing me by the wrist and towing me off.

I yank my wrist out of his grasp, glaring up at him. "So where's this person who we were supposed to be watching out for?"

"They took a side road into town before they saw us." He says glancing toward the nearest road that leads to town. My eyes follow him but can see nothing. Squat gray house after squat gray house.

The Hob looms into view in front of us, layered in coal dust. A large wooden structure with a few windows, whose glass is so grimy you, can barely see out of them. The roof sags slightly and a couple of holes that no one has repaired riddle the roof like cheese.

Gale twists the doorknob in his hands, avoiding the newly broken window. I wonder what that fight was about and who was in it.

It's bright inside, the bare bulbs flickering and swaying from the ceiling above us. People mill about, trading, arguing, haggling, buying, eating and a couple of them drinking. I catch sight of Haymitch Abernathy keeled over by the lady who sells the white liquor. He slams his money onto the table. It's no wonder Prim didn't win. He was never sober enough to help. Peeta winning was just a fluke. Only won because the Careers got wiped out.

I hate him. For not helping her when he had all the means he needed. But was too drunk to care.

Clenching numb hands into fists I take one, unconscious, step towards Haymitch. Ready to settle my score with him. I've been waiting for the most opportune moment and this may be it. He's so drunk he won't feel a thing and in the morning he won't remember.

But Gale grabs my hands and steers me toward our first stop, Greasy Sae.

"What's cooking?" Gale asks, hopping onto a stool and leaning over the long plank of plywood, substituting as a countertop.

Greasy Sae gives a mischievous grin. "Beef." She says ladling out a spoonful into a bowl.

Gale groans knowing fully well it's not actually beef. Like any Seam family could afford beef. "No really what is it?"

"Do you care? You two will eat it anyway. Well maybe not her." She points her wooden spoon at me accusingly. I can't help it. I used to eat anything Greasy Sae put in front of me but I've been turning down what she's been making lately. It's been taken as an insult to her cooking. It's not an insult but I've been eating more of my own game.

"What's the price?" Gale asks suspiciously, glancing between the soup and her gray eyes.

"A squirrel if you have any and a couple of roots."

Gale pauses and looks at me, debating. Something warm in our bellies would be good right now. But really we have numerous necessities to purchase and little to do it with. We've gone without hot food before.

"We'll have to pass." I say numbly, staring longingly as a Peacekeeper grabs a bowl and slams some change onto the counter.

I follow Gale around in a haze. Watching him trade and haggle through detached eyes, barely aware of what he's doing or buying, just knowing that I shouldn't lose him in here. I did once when I was younger and ended up being terrified and lost. When he haggles I hang back and stare at the ceiling. The ceiling is safe and doesn't conjure up any memories. No triggers for her. Just a large hole that reveals the misty gray above.

A cool raindrop splatters my nose from one of the holes and I wipe it off with my sleeve. Rain.

"We're done." Gale says irritably after another fifteen minutes of dragging my dead body around.

"Already?" I ask trying and failing miserably at sounding surprised. Relief is too strong in my voice. All I want to do is collapse and do nothing. Sleep until the end.

"Let's go." He says shortly, causing me to wonder, halfheartedly, what set him off again. Was it me? Is he sick of my refusal to co-operate? Telling him it's not my fault, never works anymore. Nothing ever works.

Despite wanting to leave moments before I now find myself in the opposite position. I don't want to leave. Because if I leave that means I'll eventually wind up at home. Perhaps not right away, I usually putter around town aimlessly for a couple hours, trying to avoid the unavoidable. Home and my mother.

"I don't want to leave." I say quietly in a childish voice.

Spinning around on his heel Gale looks at me, his eyes breaking, mouth open to snap at me but then his face softens. His eyes lose the fire, he loses the hard set of his jaw, making him look younger and friendlier. People always tell him he should let down the walls more often. Tell him it makes him look more open and attractive. I can understand the reason for the thick walls, blocking off the rest of the world. I do the same don't I?

He takes a few steps toward me, the people parting around us. Putting an arm around my shoulder he asks in a shockingly gentle voice. "I'm sure my mother would be thrilled to see you."

Hazelle. The only person left in my life who feels like a mother. Seeing her would be great but the rest of the kids, who always seem so full of life, would just be too much for me. It'll overwhelm me if I agree. And I avoid Posy and Rory especially if I can manage it. Posy, for a child so young, seems to have a firm understanding of the world and tries to baby me. And Rory, well, I always thought they liked each other.

I find myself shaking my head, vigorously. "Not today." As an afterthought, I lie. "I have to wash the floors."

"Don't know why you bother." Gale grumbles placing a hand on my shoulder and gently guiding me through the thinning crowd towards the door. "It just gets dirty four days later."

_Prim liked the house clean._ I think to myself. _So did mom before. _She could care less now. The only reason our house looks mildly acceptable is because of me. I think of Prim who used to obsessively clean dad's old shaving mirror. I'm not the cleanliest person alive so when I do have a sporadic moment when I want to clean it's poorly done due to my lack of interest and other, usually more, pressing matters.

"Mother likes a clean house." I lie, looking away from him towards the town.

"Thought she didn't care anymore." He says, catching onto my lie, but not pushing me to change my plans. Today, for once, he is not going to push me to get over it. What's changed him? Is it permanent? Doubtful. These moments are as sporadic as my cleaning.

For the second time that day my eyes find him, unwillingly amongst the crowd. His blue eyes are boring into mine again and this time they don't look away. A mix of rain and snow cascade down like the heavens have opened up.

I start to turn on my heel, to go the opposite way, to avoid him but at the last second I grab Gale by the arm and tow him towards Peeta. He gives a yelp of surprise at the sudden tugging on his arm, but follows suite, looking mildly surprised by how conscious I am.

Why should I avoid him? It's my part of town. The Seam belongs to the Seam kids. He's a merchant child. He belongs in town. Why is he out here? He looks so out of place standing there in his machine made shoes and expensive clothes.

As we draw close to Peeta, he opens his mouth. To speak? To apologize? To yell? Definitely not the latter, he seems too mild to do such a thing.

Whatever it is, I don't want to hear it. Before he can say anything I shove past him, roughly, causing him to trip and fall. His false leg giving way.

I don't look back, but release my steel grip on Gale's arm. Something, maybe remorse floods me. Wonder if I seriously hurt him. Who cares if I do? It's a small payback. The problem is I'll never be able to hurt him. I still owe him for so much. Though with Prim's death it might even things out. I'll never say thank you. Can't find a way to work it in and I still hate him. Always will.

"Well bye," Gale says staring at me like I'm very odd.

I don't say anything; can barely give myself a reason to lift my hand in farewell.

Next second I'm in Gale's arms as he gives me a tight hug. "Get better." His voice is like I'm terminally sick and might not recover. Nice to know he has so much confidence in me.

I watch his back as he walks away. Then turning to face my road I adjust my bag and with heavy steps I walk towards the inevitable. I can't find an excuse to stay away longer.

When I open the door to my house I find my mother has made her way downstairs. She looks up at me, like she's not actually seeing me.

"Prim?" She croaks.

I sigh, feeling acutely irritated. "No." It seems she always does this. I look nothing like Prim. Not even when we were babies. We were polar opposites. Blonde and blued eyed with fair skin as opposed to dark hair, gray eyes and olive toned.

"Katniss." She sighs, coming to the realization. "Where were you this morning?"

I wave my hunting bag around wildly, giving my reason. Like I need one anyway. She _should_ know I always go out on Sundays. I've been doing it for years.

"I was…worried." She wheezes. I look away to hide my disgust at her pathetic attempt to make it sound like she actually cares about me. She can't care about anyone then herself can she? If she cared about me at all she would pull herself up and look after me. I don't want her to but I would at least like an effort to prove it.

I wish I could get through to her that it's not worth it anymore. I'm not worth it. She should just stop making these feeble attempts at repairing our hopelessly shattered relationship. It'll never be the same. It can never be what she wants it be. I've lost all respect for her. She's so weak.

My mother shifts, feeling something stir feebly inside her, she follows me into the kitchen and begins to scrape together our dinner. It's almost painful to watch her. If I wasn't so resentful towards her I'd feel pity. I watch her with new eyes, wondering if this is how I look towards the rest of 12. The thought has crossed my mind before but it's always been shunted away. Could I ever look so pitiful? Unlikely that I could pull it off if I wanted.

While she tries to conjure up an acceptable dinner I start on skinning the lone squirrel. It's tedious work. I could skin a squirrel with my eyes closed I've done it so many times.

Soon the skin lies beside me on the counter and I carefully remove some of the entrails and plop it on a plate, setting it on the ground for Buttercup. Usually this treat will make him come running from wherever he's hiding in the house, but today he doesn't show at all. Still too peeved at me for this morning.

"Lady needs to be milked." My mother whispers, making a stab for conversation.

I don't answer her, I never do anymore, but I glare at her thin, spindly, back, hidden by the too big pajamas. They're dads. They barely fit around her hips anymore, even with the drawstrings pulled tight.

A stab of annoyance surges through my body at the sight of her clothes. Does she not even possess the willpower to change her clothes? I feel the same way she does but at least I pick myself up every morning and change into acceptable clothing. And she's wearing dad's clothes. We leave those in the drawer we set aside for him. How dare she? She's been trying to keep the scent of him on his possessions for years and now she's just going to throw it all away?

This is so like her. She hasn't changed at all. I had fooled myself when I was younger, thinking she would come back over the years. Some part of me had always hoped. Too far gone now. When dad died, I could barely comprehend it, all I could understand was that I hadn't lost just my dad but my mother as well.

Now I'm mourning for both of them.

"Katniss did you hear me?" She asks a surprising edge in her voice. For once she actually sounds alive. Something other than pain has filled her voice.

I nod, vague in her direction. Knowing she can't see me anyway. "Buttercup." I call, casting my eyes around. He has to be here somewhere. I try not to let him outside. "Dinnertime."

When he doesn't show his squashed, deformed face, I'm not surprised. He never comes when called anymore. He responded to Prim's voice and her voice only. I've tried to mimic it but it never works.

My mother gives up, to no one's surprise, on trying to get me to give her a verbal reply. I have no kind or extra words to spare for her. She gives up on everything these days.

A short while later she dumps half the squirrel on my plate and a few spoonful's of some of the roots I've stocked up on.

I snatch the plate from her and take it to the living room to eat by myself on the lumpy sofa. Tasting nothing of what little nutrients I shove down my throat, I watch my mother out of the corner of my eye. Discretely so she can't see I'm bothering to pay attention to her.

She's sitting at the table forlornly, chasing down bits of food and popping them into her mouth, staring at the stairs, eyes filled with tears. It's a pitiful sight.

I don't know why she's bothered to take half of dinner when she barely eats anymore. A few forkful's here and there every day and that's it. Her weight is declining more rapidly than I can replace it. But if she's done than who am I to stop her?

A small part of me is fearful that she won't make it through the winter. She's so thin it wouldn't be difficult for her to catch the flu. I shouldn't care about her. It's her choice, yet I can't help but feel partially responsible. If I hadn't become so tongue twisted at the Reaping I could've saved Prim. I would've died myself in the Games but at least then I would've spared her life. And mother wouldn't be so melancholy. Loved Prim best.

Wordlessly my mother gets up, hunched over with grief, and walks up the stairs, leaving me alone with my thoughts. And the dark.

I scrape up the last bits of food from my plate and light a fire in the broken hearth. Light the stubs of candles on the table, burning my flesh in the process. Then, finally, I eat the rest of my mother's food, spoonful by spoonful. It tastes salty, as though she was crying into it. Nonetheless I finish it anyway. If she's not going to eat, it's more for me at least. I'm not going to force her to eat more. If she wants to die so be it. I won't take away that last shred of dignity from her, but I tried in the beginning.

Wonder what nightmare I'll be presented with tonight. Don't want to know. Don't want it to come. I want to stay up all night and triumph over my horrors, but know I'll never last until dawn. I've tried too many times to try again. Not tonight.

I turn over, my eyes meeting with the back of the sofa. The dim light from the dancing embers play on the back of the sofa. My eyes feel glassy and unexpectedly moist. With a limp hand I wipe away at the excess moisture and bury my head into the stiff couch back. I don't want anyone to see my tears, though no one is here to see them crash down my cheeks. I count, feeling the words on my lips. One, two, three, four, five.

That's all the emotion I can spare tonight. Crying gets me nowhere. It doesn't make me stronger, just weaker. I can't solve any problems by crying. They don't get me through the day. A twinge of relief floods my veins. Relief that Gale isn't here to see me breakdown. He'd be angry at me for showing such weakness.

A small hiss rings throughout the tattered room and I roll around to find the source of the noise. Buttercup. Lying in my mother's knitting box, buried underneath the wool. That's where he's been hiding.

When the fire dies down and two of the candles sputter, their lives played out, I rise from my place and blow out the last of the candles.

I coax Buttercup from his hiding place and hold fast to his skinny body. Feel the fragile ribs under the thin layer of fur. Head upstairs and into our dark hallway. A thin sliver of silver moon beams down on the pale wooden floors.

Buttercup squirms once I reach the landing; he flings himself out of my arms, landing silently on all fours. I watch as he streaks towards the bedroom, wriggling himself through the narrow gap between the door and the wall.

I push Buttercup out of the way, he's just settled into the bed and looks at me resentfully as if he knew I was about to disrupt him. Under the sheets I go, the single blanket that covers the twin sized bed I once shared with Prim, offering little protection against the cold. I pull Buttercup closer to me after I've got the covers wrapped around me. I bury his face in my neck and squeeze him severely. Leaning down I inhale his scruffy fur and believe I can smell her on him. My teddy bear. As much as neither of us will ever admit it, we need each other tonight. With him, buried in my body it's like she's with me. Closer. Almost tangible. She feels closer to me tonight than ever before.

* * *

><p><strong>I had to update because I'm stupid and I put my notes on the bottom. Thanks for all the suggestions though for the quarter quell. I can't use any of the ideas I had now as you've read all of them. <strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**I couldn't find a song so this chapter is also empty. **

"Katniss." Prim's voice sounds oddly different. Masculine. Distorted like she's underwater. Maybe that's a bad sign but any time I get to spend with Prim is precious. A part of my mind knows this is wrong but it's competing with so many other emotions it's drowned out.

I want to reply but my mouth appears to be glued shut.

"Katniss," She says with growing concern.

"Hmmmph," I mumble finally able to pry my mouth open enough to talk. You would think that being able to spend time with her, no matter how small; I ought to be able to talk.

"Katniss Everdeen," She says in a voice that seems to tickle my ear and fan my hair across my face.

'What?' I want to say but my mouth seems incapable of saying nothing more than meaningless gibberish,

"Miss. Everdeen." She says in that same oddly deep voice. It's strange that she uses such a formal title for her older sister. Is it different where she is?

"Miss. Everdeen!" A calloused hand shakes me roughly to reality, bright fluorescent lights, rows of desks, eyes staring at me. Prim is whisked away with one final wave of her hand. I cling to the dream, to the final image but it's stolen. Like trying to hold onto snow in your palm. There for a minute but melts and drips through your fingers.

"Yes," I say somewhat stupidly, my head banging against the corner of my desk.

"Are you alright?" My teacher asks, looking down his long, hooked nose to stare at me with a mixed expression. Somewhere between anger for sleeping in class and concern at my facial expression which I'm sure is horribly blank.

Everyone eye in the class is on me, watching, gauging my answer.

When I don't reply immediately Mr. Turt, my teacher, continues, "You started shouting in your sleep." It's not a scornful tone, or pitying but matter-of-fact.

"Oh," I say awkwardly, unable to think of what I ought to say. Sorry? Unsure if I should say anything at all. I don't remember screaming, just remember the peaceful meadow where she danced and I held her tight.

"A very loud dream about your sister."

I look down at my desk, seeing the chipped yellowing paint between my splayed fingers. "Sorry," I fidget in my seat, suddenly feeling as if the chair is too constricting and cold. "Continue on."

"You look unwell," Mr. Turt notes shrewdly. Why does everyone insist on telling me? I know I don't look well. I haven't since she died. "You should go home." This is unexpected, the kindness, allowing me to go home. He's hardly ever this kind.

"No, no, I'm fine." I say trying to stay as firm as possible when I can see the edge slipping away. Because right now. I need to stay firm and stubborn. Or I'll be swayed.

A girl behind me sighs and I whip around in my desk to look at her. It's Madge, her light blonde hair tied back with a blue ribbon. She leans forward, unable to quite reach me like she wants. There's a desk between us. Peeta used to sit right behind me. Before he won the Games and was free to practice whatever he wished.

"Go home Katniss. I'll take some notes to you," She says earnestly.

With one more glance towards Mr. Turt, who nods his head and sighs, I get up and swing my foraging bag, which doubles as my school bag, over my shoulder and walk up to the Mr. Turt's desk. He quickly scribbles an excusal note on a sheet of paper and hands it to me. My will has crumbled, too easily torn down by two people who want me to get better.

After dropping my excuse off at the office I walk backwards out of the school doors and out into the courtyard. The cobblestone is slick with ice and the few tufts of grass still alive are coated with a thick layer of frost. I can feel the eyes of other kids on me as they watch me cross the courtyard from the safety of their classrooms.

The sky overhead is a dusky gray, heavy and suffocating.

I'm not sure what to do, or where to go. I feel too numb to go hunting and it's doubtful I'll find anything. The ground is too hard and the animals are gone in their burrows for the winter. We'll have to hold out until Parcel Day. Gale is relying on me though for a haul, and as much as I hate letting him down, and even though I have hours of unoccupied time I know I won't. Because I don't care. Not today.

Home sounds wretched right now. I refuse to face my mother. I don't want to see her give up the fight again. Don't want to see her eyes, long has the life and spark left. It's better if she thinks that I've been in school the entire day. Doubtful that she'll even care or ask.

Most days, before the Games, I would've given anything to miss out on school. It's uninteresting learning about coal but I know I should pay attention as that's the only job I'll ever get. If Prim had won we could've easily done without working for the rest of our lives. That option is shot. When Gale was still in school we had time during our lunch breaks to sneak into the woods and check the snares. I still could if I wanted to but I lack the will.

If I wanted I could just sit on the cobblestone all day. Well I would if it wasn't so cold. My exposed fingers and face feel like they're about to fall off. I hate this. This indecision that's come with Prim's death. It makes everything so difficult. Even the simplest tasks become a chore.

Letting my feet take me wherever, my mind drifts off into some altered version of reality. My mind relaxes and feels more at peace than it has in a long time. Nice and calm. Blissfully blank.

"Katniss?" A voice calls and I snap back to the gray reality. All around me everything is gray. A heavy gray mist has settled around the town. Gray skies overheard, promising snow. Gray buildings, falling into disrepair. Gray streets, cold under my feet. It's amazing how much time can pass and I don't even notice. I don't mind. Far from it. These numb minutes are beautiful. Takes the edge off the pain. Makes it so I practically float through a day with nothing to feel. No sharp pain in my chest. I look behind me and can only see a vague gray outline against the mist.

"Katniss!" The voice calls again, closer at hand this time.

_Oh no,_ I think, panicking. _It's a Peacekeeper._ They'll send me back to school or home for sure. My heart rate picks up and the urge to bolt is overpowering. Pretend I don't exist and disappear into a back yard. When I go to move my feet however it's like they're glued to the ground. They'll walk me back to my home and there'll be no way I can avoid mother then.

The outline becomes more distinct, enough for me to see the familiar shape of the guns strapped across their backs. _Please let it be Darius,_ I think desperately. He won't question me too much. Make me head home probably but might not stand at the door and wait for me to go inside. I squint, through the mist, waiting for the shock of red hair to become visible.

Only it's not Darius. It's not Cray. It's not a Peacekeeper at all. It's Hazelle with her load of laundry, from the merchants, slung over her shoulder. She eyes me critically. "Shouldn't you be in school?"

I shrug, hoping it'll be enough of an answer to satisfy her. "Shouldn't Posy be with you?"

It's not enough. "Well should you or shouldn't you?" Her voice has an edge of a scolding to it and something close to concern. Hazelle has more than enough mouths to feed yet she's almost adopted me as her own. Hardly anyone knows me better than her. Knows the feelings that are locked inside. Because she lost her husband and we can both relate to losing something we loved. Unlike me, though, she got over it. "Did they close it? Is something wrong?"

"I wasn't feeling well so they excused me."

Her fingers grip my upper arm in like a vise. Unbreakable. Like the hug Prim gave me before she left…Some small idle part of my mind wonders if tears were to come how quick they would freeze in this weather. I notice the tips of her rough fingers are tinged blue from the cold, matching my own ice blue skin. "Well you shouldn't be wandering around like this! Shouldn't you be home?"

I give a shrug but when Hazelle's eyes demand an answer I say, "I guess so."

"Your fingers are blue," Hazelle comments, slinging an arm around my shoulder and drawing me closer. "Come with me. I'll fix you up a nice bath. But on one condition. You have to help me with this load." She smiles and I can't tell if she's joking or not. She enjoys a practical joke every now and again.

Once we've gotten to her house, she dumps the bag on the living room floor and deposits me onto the couch, throwing a thin blanket across my lap. "I'll go boil some water."

Their living room is bare, shabby, but somehow still manages to feel warm and homey. The dark blue couch takes up one wall with just enough space for an end table for their light. The far wall is broken up by two, large windows with fraying curtains pushed to the side. Their television is crammed into the corner without power. The only other source of comfort in the room is the armchair, a big blue one with tiny stripes of gray and yellow running down it.

I love Hazelle's house. It feels more like home now than my own. I spend so much time here anyway. The house seems smaller than my own. Perhaps it's because there's five in the family instead of just two. Two tiny bedrooms, one bathroom. Gale doesn't even have a bed. He sleeps on the couch. An uncomfortable and unfortunate turn out.

Outside the grimy window across the room I can see the first flakes of snow beginning to gently dance to the ground. "When does Gale get out?" I ask as Hazelle comes back with a cup of water for me.

She flops onto the armchair and runs her fingers through her hair. "Six…I think." She dumps out the bag of clothes and scatters them all over the floor. Starting to separate the darks from the rest.

Slipping off the couch I'm close enough to help. I begin to help by separating the whites from the pile. "Where's Posy?"

"Sleeping upstairs. Thought I'd run out while she was asleep."

I reach for a white top and drag it closer to me then dump it in the rest of little load of whites.

"Katniss I was joking about needing help! I get through more than this without help." She exclaims sounding amused. "Besides you should be resting."

"To be honest I don't like resting much," I lie throwing a top on top of the rest of whites. What it really is, that's making me help Hazelle when she's more than capable, is that I don't like watching other people do things. Make me feel useless. It's peaceful sitting here with Hazelle doing nothing, just feeling the cool, smooth, simple clothes, beneath my fingertips.

"How was school?" She asks in a concerned voice. She must know about my struggles. Of course she does. Gale wouldn't keep quiet about that.

"Good," I say as casually as I can manage without sounding overly cheery or insistent.

"Katniss," Hazelle says putting the pair of pants she's holding down on her lap, sounding tired and frustrated with the lie that slips so easily from my lips now. "Please don't lie."

I sigh, knowing that trying to continue this ruse would be ridiculous. All the better. Lying to everyone about how life is gets tiring and repetitive after months of saying you're fine when everyone knows you're not. Telling Hazelle might be a good thing. I'm done with lying. Done with pretending everything is OK when it's not. Far from it. I'm done. I don't care if I go into a home and end up like the rest of those kids. Might be better than where I am with my mother.

"I feel asleep in class," I admit reaching for the last white pair of gloves. "I wasn't able to sleep last night. Apparently I had a very loud nightmare."

"About what?" She sounds horrified as she leaves and comes back with her washboard and large metal tub.

"For once I don't remember." All I can remember is the last seconds I had with Prim, the serenity of it all. How it sounded like she was trying to tell me something. That's enough for me. It wasn't a replay of her death. Those dreams of Prim vie with the ones of my dad being blown to bits. I'm not complaining. The peaceful dreams don't come often but the feeling for the first minutes after them are beautifully happy. Anytime I spend with her, whether sleeping or not, is precious.

Hazelle is looking at me with an unreadable expression. "And?" She prompts.

"Mr. Turt took pity on me I guess and told me to go home."

"And why didn't you go home?"

I try my best to sound nonchalant when I reply. Like it's nothing at all. "I didn't want to see my mom. It's better if she thinks that I'm still at school."

"Lucky I found you then. Did you realize your fingers where turning gray?" Hazelle dumps the load of black clothes into the soapy water and begins to scrub viciously at a black top. She sighs heavily, "_Honestly_ the things people do to their clothes."

I don't reply but crawl back on the couch and rest my head against the one badly torn pillow. Saying my fingers were gray was a bit of an exaggeration, they're just blue but I didn't feel it. Instead I ask a question of my own. It's completely irrelevant to our conversation but anything to get off this topic. I thought I had wanted to vent to somebody but now I'm beginning to think that Hazelle is not the right person. Or maybe I'm just not quite ready. "How does everyone fit on this couch?"

She laughs in her raucous way. "With great difficulty. For now Posy doesn't mind sitting on the floor or on my lap but when she's older…"

It's silent while she washes, her humming a little tune to herself and me watching the fat wet flakes of snow falling almost carelessly to the ground, getting tossed around in the light breeze.

I'm not sure how long we sit there in silence, it feels like hours but at the same time it was one of the times when it feels like it's only been mere minutes. Hazelle breaks the silence first. "Katniss," She says in a quiet voice, wondering if I've fallen asleep. I'm close, my eyes are heavy.

"Yes?" I mumble, speech garbled by the pillow I've buried my face in. Ridiculous that I can still be tired. All I seem to do lately is sleep. Or try at least. For a few hours until I'm jolted awake with my screaming.

"Are you OK?"

"Fine," I say rolling around to look at her. I force my heavy eyes open to look at her. Her cracked fingers are poised over the washboard, a pair of underwear in her hands.

"Are you sure? You seem so…miserable. I always worry about you."

"Don't," I murmur automatically. That's my automatic answer to everything when someone tries to help me isn't it? I immediately shut and shunt them out of my life. Delete them from my life. Avoid them in public. Tell them I don't need help when…maybe…deep down I do. The walls I've made to protect myself include no one but me, with no room to spare. Walls are the most useful tool I've learned in life.

"Well if you ever need anything. Someone to talk to or hug we're always here." She says meeting my eyes with her own. "Do you need food?"

Is Hazelle really asking me if I need food? She barely has enough to feed her family and she's asking me? Like she could _actually_ give me something. I can't help but feel irritated by this, I can feed myself. I have been since I was twelve. Besides the way things are going Rory will be signing up for Tesserae, Gale's worst nightmare. She should be worrying about how she'll feed her family, not me. Not when I'm getting by OK for the first time in a long while. Horrible as it is, it's easier to feed just the two of us. Or one of us as mother doesn't eat much. I've been trying to give Gale more than his share of the haul but he won't allow it. Maybe he will when he's faced with the decision of Rory having to sign up. But at that point I might need the food myself…

When I don't answer she asks in a would-be light voice, "Should I shut my mouth and let you sleep?" Silence is my answer and she doesn't talk again. Only sound is that of Hazelle cursing under her breath about how filthy the clothes are and that she swears people try and make them as dirty as possible.

Eventually I drift off to sleep. It's a light sleep in which I can hear everything but I'm unable to open my eyes. Ten pound weights have dropped on them. Low subdued voices join Hazelle's and I can pick out Rory's and Vic's and little Posy's voices but I must eventually drift off into a deeper slumber because the last I hear is that of Rory asking what dinner is.

My sleeping is troubled, irritating, and nightmare after nightmare saunters into my head, each merging into the previous to create something truly sinister. The horrible thing, my screaming which usually is the only thing that rouses me, doesn't happen. My mouth is glued shut and I feel like I'm suffocating under a hand clamped over it.

I'm with Prim in the Games, but I'm unable to come to her aid as my legs feel like they're encased in a net. The sky above is blue but unreachable through the dense canopy of green leaves, filtering the sunlight green against the soft mossy flooring.

It's only when Prim falls to her knees, gasping and clutching at her glistening red throat that the hint of a scream constricts my chest, binding it tight. Still, I have to watch her topple to the ground and claw futilely at the air, mouth a brilliant red. The boy from Two stands above her, sword held high over his head. As he brings it slamming into her stomach a scream breaks its way through my throat and up past my mouth into the surrounding area.

Drenched in sweat I jolt and flail in the blanket, my legs hopelessly ensnared. I swing my upper body up so fast my head spins along with the room and faces swim in my vision. Blurs of black hair and olive skin. The faces come into focus and I can see Hazelle and the boys staring at me with wide, stricken eyes.

"Katniss!" Hazelle exclaims offering her hand and keeping me steady while Rory and Vic untangle my legs. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," I gasp waving her away. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" Vic asks surveying me.

"Absolutely," I say, holding back a moan as I start to feel sick. Images swirl vividly in my mind, the horror not quite gone from my system. How many ways must I endure her dying? How many hours of torture?

Posy comes running in from the kitchen, black pigtails swinging, carrying a basket almost as tall as her. Hazelle takes it from her hands and thrusts it under my chin. I'm about to refuse when I throw up. Hazelle hold my hair and bangs back from my slick forehead until I'm done.

When I'm done she instructs Rory to leave the can outside until she can deal with it. He nods, looking a little green himself.

"You're not sick are you?" She asks worriedly.

After insisting I'm fine I ask them if I can go back to sleep and when they say yes, somewhat reluctant, I settle back onto the couch, face to the back of the couch and feign sleep. The last thing I want to do is sleep again. More nightmares surely.

Once they think I've fallen asleep again I can hear their whispers rise up in the cramped living room. Voices jumping around in my ears.

"Did you get your homework done?" Hazelle whispers.

"Yes mom." Rory and Vic reply in unison.

"Shh! Not so loud!"

"Why not?" Vic asks.

"She's sleeping," Rory says, accompanied by the sound of a glass being set down.

"So?" Vic whispers, lowering his voice all the same. "We never do when Gale sleeps and that's all he does when he gets home."

"Yeah but she doesn't work sixteen hour shifts." Rory reminds him in a smug tone. "She doesn't come home drop dead tired. Plus haven't you notice that he sleeps like the dead?"

"Rory!" Hazelle snaps somehow, still injecting the warning in the whisper.

"Sorry." He mumbles.

With the kids home silence in the house lasts for maybe about two minutes. Posy wanders in and asks, "What's Catnip doing here mommy?" Did she think it would be rude to ask when I was awake?

"She's tired Posy, very tired." Hazelle replies scrubbing with enthusiasm. "So we have to _whisper._"

"Is she alright?" Posy's voice has turned hushed and worried.

"I don't know, darling." Hazelle sighs. "She's sick."

"Will she get better?" Posy exclaims, too loudly. Missing Hazelle's meaning. Right over her head like most children her age.

"_Shhhh!_" Vic hushes and I can feel every pair of eyes on me, to see if I'll stir. I keep very still, trying to keep my back and body relaxed and breathing deep and even. Four minutes they watch me pretend to sleep. Eyes scrutinizing my back which feels too tight and stiff.

"I don't know if she will." Hazelle says in answer to Posy's question, her voice fretful. "I'm worried about her."

"But someone can't be sick like she is forever can they?" Rory asks scratching away at a piece of paper in front of him. I wonder what he's doing. Drawing?

Hazelle sighs again and I wonder if she's thinking about when her husband died. The pain and loss that accompanies it. The gaping hole that will never be healed. How it feels like some irreplaceable part is suddenly just ripped away. Would it be worse to watch them die or just find out? "Sometimes they can. They don't always get better."

At the last sentence I'm reminded of mother with a terrible punch to the gut. How she never picked herself up. Hazelle did and she had three boys and a baby due. But mother couldn't. Not even now when she's turning to skin and bones can she find the will.

Someone scoffs and I'm guessing it's Rory.

"Gale seems anxious and angry with her," Vic pipes up, sounding like he's entertaining Posy because her voice is right next to his and she keeps giggling.

If anyone was about to reply they don't get a chance. The front door opens and Hazelle says much too bright, "Hi Gale. How was work?" For a moment the ruse of being asleep fades as does the whispering. I take the moment free from scrutiny to roll over so my back faces the couch. It's less comfortable this way with my head right near the edge of the couch, arm dangling over the side but it shows them I'm still asleep.

Gale doesn't reply but says hello to everyone at large and grunts when Posy locks him in one of her infamous bone crunching hugs. Even at the age of four she's nearly succeeded in turning my bones to dust.

"Missed you!" She exclaims, sounding pleased that he's home at last. "When are you off again?"

"Sunday," Gale tells her kissing her forehead. "Always Sunday."

The floorboards creak as he stands up again and walks over to the living room. Sound stops and I have to strain my ears to hear Gale's whisper. "Why is she here?" He sounds almost…angry.

Hazelle hastily fills him in. "I want to let her rest as long as she needs to."

Gale sighs in defeat. Gale who wins almost every argument. Who's so hardheaded, actually gives up. Then again no one can ever win a fight with Hazelle. It's impossible from what he's told me and from what I've witnessed. I've never witnessed a full blown argument and Rory says that they don't happen often, but they're nasty. "York broke his leg. Won't be able to work for months."

"Don't they have five kids to look after?" Vic asks. "I'm in class with his daughter.

"Soon to be six kids apparently," Gale grumbles, agitated.

"No, not again." Rory moans, banging his head on the table. "They have enough. Their youngest is only nineteen months."

York, I swear I remember him. Can't put a face to the name but sure I could if I had the energy or the chance. Gale's probably mentioned him, probably introduced him to me. I think his son is in my class.

Impossibly I end up falling asleep again. Dreaming that someone strokes my hair and says unintelligible whispers that sounds like my name being whispered over and over again. It's pleasant, unlike the usual ones.

"Mom what _is_ wrong with her?"

"She's sick," Hazelle says firmly. "She doesn't know how to cope."

"With what?" It sounds like Vic this time.

"Prim's death," Rory says as if it should be obvious.

"And her father's. Remember she wasn't able to appropriately mourn his death," Hazelle adds. "She had to become the sole provider."

"And her mother is as good as." Gale shoots venomously and I'm not sure how to handle the comment. Maybe I am sick and I have a fever and I'm hallucinating. "Her mother can't handle it."

"Time for bed you two. You have school tomorrow." Hazelle says shortly, sensing where the subject is likely to go and proclaiming it's not suitable for the kids.

Rory and Vic drag their feet slowly up the stairs. Loitering near the middle from the sounds of it. Neither of them wanting to go. It's doubtful neither Hazelle nor Gale tells them these kinds of things and now that they're receiving this info they don't want to leave.

"Hurry up. I want to talk to Gale." Hazelle warns them.

Upstairs a bedroom door slams shut, leaving Hazelle and Gale alone.

It's quiet for a long, heavy moment. I can feel them glaring at each other, furious.

"Shouldn't we wake her up?" Gale finally asks, more snappishly than usual.

"No, let her sleep."

"Her mother will be worried," Gale informs her shortly. His tone implies he doesn't want me in his house any longer. I don't blame him. I am after all in his bed. But he'll live, honestly.

"_Let her sleep,_" Hazelle insists sounding near her wits end. Am I turning into an argument? Have they argued about me before?

"I'm waking her up," Gale says, floorboards creaking as he stands up.

"Don't!" Hazelle cuts her voice freezing cold. It freezes Gale from shoving me awake and I feel him lean back against the couch. His head resting by my stomach. "Why would you do such a thing?"

Gale's voice is oddly amused as he moves my arm, so it's curled by my side. I can sense him by my side, closer to my head now. His voice is louder than usual and I have to wonder if he's doing this on purpose so I do wake up it'll look like an accident. Too bad I'm comfortable gathering information right now. Amazing the things people say when they think you're oblivious to the world. "She'd want to be woken up. Besides she's been sleeping since I've got home. She's more than rested." My arm falls back over the side, hitting Gale in the face and he groans and curses but shifts so my hand is draped across his chest.

"Just let her spend the night. Move her to the chair or something. No one ever disturbs you when you're sleeping."

"What are you talking about? Posy was sticking a pencil in my ear a week ago to wake me up."

"Rare exception."

"And the week before that she sat on me. Vic woke me up when he got a glass of water. Though that was an accident." Gale says with what I can only imagine is a quelling look.

"OK fine. Just don't wake her up."

Strong arms wind around my body, gently lifting me from the couch and placing me on a lumpy chair. They stuff something that feels like an article of clothing under my head and drape a blanket across my knees. The chair where hours ago Hazelle sat after finishing her work.

I want to wake up, to get up and leave. To fall back into the black oblivion. To do something, other than have this half waking, dreaming reality. But I can't with my lead body that weighs a million pounds. A small part of me realizes I should really be going home but fatigue wins out.

"I'm off to bed." Hazelle's voice says a few minutes later and the sound of her footsteps disappear in the dark and it's the last thing I hear.

I wake, judging it's about been an hour to an hour and a half from the totality of the night around us. Neck aching from the awkward position and shivering from the cold I pull the blanket closer only to find that it was a never a blanket. Only Gale's jacket. The only one he owns. It reeks of the mines and the forest. So it's both suffocating and comforting.

I swing myself into a sitting position and get up. I don't want to wake up Gale who will undoubtedly not be in a chipper mood if I do. Better if I leave now and go home. Walk in the house and crawl into bed and tell my mom I came home right after school. She probably slept this entire time. So stupid of me. I should've woken up hours ago. Should've gone home when Rory and Vic came home. That would've been a good cue. I had wanted to make my mother believe I was at school the entire day and once Rory and Vic came home that should've been a cue. I'll have to tell her something else. Like I went hunting right after. Stupid leaden body. If she's awake at all…

Trying to remember what floorboards creak in this house and unable to remember I blindly take a step forward, bent over and groping in the darkness so I won't bump into anything. My first step goes wrong. The wooden beam emits a loud creak of protest and suddenly a light flicks on.

A light going on is a rare occurrence. We rarely get electricity, a couple hours at the most sporadically.

"Katniss?" Gale asks groggily peering at me hazily in the light.

I shield my eyes from the sudden light. Blinking repeatedly to rid my eyes from the spots of light on the back of my eyelids. "Yes," I say, eyes finally adjusting.

"What are you doing?" He moans, still not fully conscious. His eyes half closed, hair tousled and mouth slack. He momentarily looks surprised that I'm in his house before it comes back to him.

"Going home." I hiss as the light flickers off and the only light is from the moon.

"Just go back to sleep," He groans, glaring at me blearily.

It's tempting I'll admit but the odds are against me if I think my mother won't notice my prolonged absence. If I'm not there in the morning, that'll be suspicious. She could still be up. If she was sleeping throughout the morning and a better part of the afternoon she'll surely be awake tomorrow morning and be wondering where I am. Then again if she's slept all day there's a good chance she'll be awake when I get home.

"I have to go home." I say stubbornly stubbing my toe on the low living room table. I curse under my breath and mutter to myself, "where's the door?"

"The door is near the front of the house. Like always," Gale mumbles and in the dim, nearly nonexistent light, I watch as he rolls over onto his stomach and brings the pillow over his head. "Just go to bed. She won't care."

My mind feels hazy and clouded having him contradict me but I hold fast to my decision, knowing that if I sway in the slightest I'll end up confused and unsure. "No I better go."

He groans with what seems like an unnecessary amount of exaggeration. "Pass my top then."

"Why? I'm walking home. You don't have to come. I live not fifteen minutes away," I remind him, feeling guilty about waking him up. Which is how he wants me to feel, surely.

"No, no I'll come." He mumbles, looking like he wants nothing more than to stay where he is. But something wins out and he wipes his face to wake himself up. "Pass me my top."

I fling the top at him and wait impatiently. The guilt fills me up, unexpected and unwelcome. Sadly guilt is something I live with on a daily basis but that doesn't mean I like it. On the contrary. Guilty about Prim. Guilty that Hazelle feels she needs to look after me. Guilty that I've woken up Gale when I know he has to be at work at the crack of dawn, and that he feels the need to walk me to my house. Although the last bit is by choice I remind myself.

Gale sits up and pulls the top over his head, struggling with the arm holes. I wonder how cold he must've been. Sleeping without a top with only a thin blanket and no heating. No coals or wood sit in the abandoned, crumbling, hearth. All so I wouldn't have a crick in my neck, not much of a setback for me. If Gale catches a cold, it wouldn't be hard given the weather, and colds can be fatal…

"Let's go," He yawns, rubbing his eyes and swinging his legs over the couch.

Gale shuts the door silently behind him and sets the pace. A surprisingly slow amble for such a biting night. The winter wind nips at my face, biting my cheeks, slowly corroding away at my face, tearing, ripping.

I walk by his side, pulling my jacket tighter around my body, snow crunching under my noiseless boots. A heavy December sky looms overhead and snow drifts soundless and lazy past our heads. Everything is quiet. No lights, other than the occasional flicker of a candle in a passing house. For one, brilliant moment the full moon's gleaming light shines through a weaker part of the clouds, stars twinkling and kissing the sky. Only to be engulfed seconds later as the clouds cage it in again. Like they don't it to be seen, like they want to keep everything dark.

I keep my eyes on the immaculate surface of white spread before us. Someone, or more likely people, has hastily cleared the snow from the walkways, but a fine dusty layer sprinkles the walkways. In some spots, nearly three inches, and in other more recently cleaned areas, only a layering that looks like dust, sparkling every so often in the ice.

Gale, I notice, has forgotten his shoes. His bare feet glide across the snow, kicking it up and sending tufts of it flying in every direction, the only sign that we were both here.

"You forgot your shoes and you won't be able to get back to sleep."

"I'll live." He mumbles toughly, sounding like he thinks rather differently. "I've gone without sleep before."

I kick the snow and watch a cloud of it get caught in a breeze and whip at my face, stinging my eyes. "So why are you walking me home?"

"Don't want Cray to get the wrong idea. Or anyone else for that matter."

"I doubt that'll happen though."

"Katniss it's some godforsaken hour, it's snowing out and you'd be alone. You don't think that'd give some people ideas?" He makes me sound like a simpleton. If I wasn't so numb I'd be angry. But the numb feeling is always there now. Well almost always. Off and on like a light switch.

I guess he does make a point. "Cray doesn't usually go for walks at this hour." Usually already preoccupied with the girls on his doorstep.

"Oh no? You'd be surprised. He enjoys his late night drinking if the pickings are slim."

It's quiet while he thinks that the words sink into my brain. I understand but I don't see the big problem or what his issue is. I've walked home at night much later than this probably. Usually with Gale but not always. Besides it's not like I can't handle myself. And often Gray will just leave girls alone unless they're on his doorstep. Does he just think me too fragile and vulnerable? I hate it. Hate that he deems me incompetent.

"And what you don't think _you _walking me home will start a couple rumours?"

"Better that. Besides I doubt anyone will bother to check outside their windows. Or just come randomly walking by."

"Cray might," I say bitingly. I wonder if I should be flattered but I'm too angry to care. Which, in my current state is something to relish, and cling to with my fingernails.

"He won't care. If you were alone, he'd care." He says, oblivious to my tone. Or maybe he notices it and just enjoys pretending he doesn't.

"You forgot your shoes," I tell him again, bitingly this time.

He looks down, as if suddenly noticing. "I did."

A bright square of light looms in front of us. A light with a flickering quality which can only mean candles.

_Please don't be my house_. I think desperately, heart sinking as we move closer and closer to it.

"I thought she would've given up," Gale mutters.

"That's why you took so long to walk me home?" I ask, knowing the answer. Both of us stopping just out of view from my house.

He nods, glancing worriedly at the front door. "I don't think I should see you to the door."

"What am I to tell her?" I whisper. I don't see a point in him not walking me to the door. She'll see two sets of footprints in the morning anyway. Or maybe someone will shovel or it'll snow so much it won't be noticeable. Why am I worrying anyway? She doesn't even look outside anymore.

"Tell her you weren't feeling well and you stayed at my mom's for an hour then went hunting and a bear chased you up a tree or something."

It's weak but it's the only thing I've got. But lies always slip up somehow in my mouth, get lodged on my lips and some altered version of the truth and the lie mix in together, creating something that is nonsensical. It's improbable that she'll get mad if I she thinks I was with Gale the entire time, but just in case. It's likely that she hasn't even noticed my absence. Unlikely that she even cares where I've been. For all I know she could've noticed my absence, a great feat, left the light on so I could get in without caring where I've been at all. But Gale is right; better to be cautious.

Gale sends my house a glance, like he's not sure about it. "Well," He says, suddenly curt. "Goodnight."

I look at the snow underfoot. It's soaked through my shoes and my socks are damp. But the state of my boots is nothing compared to what Gale is like. Feet turning blue from the cold, bottom of his pajamas soaked and clinging to his ankles.

We both stare at the ground. A heavy silence clinging to the bitter air. I keep examining the hem of his pants for some reason. Eyes unable to find anything else that isn't white or gray.

I don't say goodnight, which maybe I should, seeing as how he walked me home. Feet uncomfortable from the cold I turn on my heel, towards the door. I don't want to go home. But I'll catch the flu if I stay out here any longer.

With a great amount of reluctance I take the freezing doorknob in hand and wave over my shoulder at Gale. I'm not sure if he can see it. I fumble with the key in the lock before realizing the door is unlocked. Not a good sign. Grasping it, tight enough that my knuckles protest, I twist the handle and gently prod the door. It swings open without a creak or groan and when I see no one on the couch or standing by the door I allow myself a breath of relief.

Candles burn low in their holders, dripping onto the wooden tables, wax streaming over the side of the table beside the couch. That will be one mess to clean up that I won't enjoy. I can see a knife will be handy. Why can't _she_ do it?

I don't have a curfew but I'm sure this is pushing it for an acceptable time to come home. I remind myself that mother is unreachable and therefore doesn't care where I've been or what time I come home. She's sleeping.

Feeling strangely triumphant I let the door click back into its frame. I ease off one boot and place it precisely on the mat beside my mother's pair. I glance out the window, trying to find Gale in the entire stretch of white and gray but he's gone home. Only thing that betrays his presence is the shoe imprints. I reluctantly tear my gaze from the window, wishing I was anywhere but home.

A stair creaks and my mother comes downstairs, looking frighteningly _there _and angry. I haven't seen her look like this in a long time. It's almost a relief. Then I see what's in her hands. A paper bag that looks like it's holding my books from school. She glares. "And where have you been?"

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